


Words for the parched

by LittleLinor



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 22:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: The first time Yamato praises Daichi (after kissing him)





	Words for the parched

**Author's Note:**

> I think I hadn't played record breaker back when I originally wrote this, so take that into account  
> Also it's meant to be waaay early in their relationship so it's a lot less healthy than I usually write them (tbh record breaker did give me material for a much healthier development and I'm glad)

He’s shoved you against a wall, and your entire skin is tingling—from the impact, sure, but mostly from the shiver of almost-fear coursing up your spine and down your limbs, the moment of tingling, suspended excitement before his intensity crashes into you and pins you down.

It’s almost fear because you don’t actually think he’s going to harm you, but your heart is still beating madly with the strangled reflex to escape, your breath is short like the vulnerability of taking a deep breath will get you killed, and you know pushing you just a bit further will send you trembling. He’s advancing on you, and god, you’ve always been drawn, fascinated by his confidence, his fierceness, his belief in his own power; you could never tear your eyes off him, and being at his mercy now makes you want to whimper in the best way.

You still can’t believe he would actually take when you offered yourself up.

He grabs your chin and kisses you, and it’s not as rough as you’d have expected from your current position, but it’s still controlling, commanding. He moves between shallow and deep like he’s exploring you, trying to figure you out, and his hold on your chin (and hair, now, you realise with a gasp) is uncompromising, keeping you in place until he’s satisfied. It makes you panic a little (you know that feeling, that knowledge that you’re being judged; you face it every day, and usually when the other person is done there’s this sliver of disinterest, of disapointment, always, because when it comes down to it, that kid who forgot his things at a life-defining exam, that kid who stammered when called on to to help, he’s not worth their time), but right when you think he’s going to pull back he deepens it instead, like his mouth is finally locking you down like his hands do, and you whine into it, and again, when he pulls back and bites your lip before releasing you.

You open your eyes. He’s observing you still, eyes fixed on your face, darting every now and then to your lip (is it bleeding?), and there’s something like a small broken fragment of your chest that falls into place, because even now he hasn’t let go of you. You could laugh at how sad it is that this matters to you. He presses harder against you (close, warm, even safe, in a weird way), pins you with his weight, and lets go of your hair to brush your lip with his thumb, and towards your cheek—yeah it’s definitely bleeding, you can feel the smear on your skin. You know you’re shaking, now, not from the roughness but from being bared, explored, the thrill and terror of it gripping at your throat. But he looks—fascinated, and a bit confused, that small frown on his forehead he gets when he realises something escapes him, the alienating disconnection that made you want to reach out to him in the first place. And that… that makes you want to let him discover more.

Slowly and deliberately, keeping your eyes on his so he’ll know it’s a conscious offer, you raise your arms above your head and cross your wrists against the wall.

He stares at you blankly for a while, and for a second you start fearing that it was the wrong thing to do, but then he reaches up with his free hand and then grips them, pins them hard enough to make you gasp. It’s dizzyingly good, and you think you could let him go on forever, could let him hurt you as long as he keeps you like this, chest and neck completely bared and vulnerable and buzzing with the need to be touched (pressed,  _scratched_ ). Instead, he moves forward to kiss you again, but this time it’s strangely gentler, his hold on your chin still firm but almost delicate, lips pressuring but almost cosseting.

When he talks, there’s an inflexion you’ve never heard before in his voice, something close to wonder.

“You are a strange man, Daichi Shijima.” Another kiss, and this time he bites you again, slowly enough that you whine into it. “Strange, and implausibly brave.”

It makes no sense to you (how is that any courage, to let yourself go like this, to surrender yourself to another to touch, to another’s will, to give in to your craving to be held? How brave can it be, when he’s the one doing everything?), but there’s a part of you that catches on fire at the praise anyway, because maybe he’s giving you too much credit, but Yamato Hotsuin thought you were  _brave_ , and he would never make a compliment he doesn’t fully mean.


End file.
